


Agape

by 21stCenturyHero



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Agender Character, Lightwarden WOL, Nonbinary Character, Other, They/Them Pronouns for the WOL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/21stCenturyHero/pseuds/21stCenturyHero
Summary: The world has ended, but they remain.
Relationships: Fray Myste/Warrior of Light
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Agape

Once again, the two of you stare at the sun that doesn’t set.

It used to bother you, a long time ago — way before, when the war was fought, and lost, and over. It creeps on your soul, falling through the cracks and illuminating your very core, showing corners of you that should stay hidden forever, all your scars, and your pain, and your loss; it’s an evil thing, a corrupt thing, the very thing that’s killing this world, and yet—

And yet, you cannot hate the light — not when _they_ are so radiant. 

You arrive at the top of Mt. Gulg, and he’s there where you last left them, sitting on their throne and overlooking the world below. It’s a sad visage of a sad creature: barely held together by constraints of your own making, made of shadows taken shape, they don’t even thrash anymore — they used to, a long time ago; thrash and cry out and _beg you for mercy, so that you could finally kill them, so that both of you could finally be **free** _— but now, there’s only stillness.

“Beloved,” you call out, but it falls on deaf ears; instead, the Lightwarden looks at the horizon with their multiple golden eyes, seemingly lost in the sort of deep thought he’s no longer capable of. They wrap around their face like a blindfold or a pair of bandages, creating space only to show the glowing cracks where their right eye used to be, looking thoroughly _wrong_ , and even so, that was a familiar visage for you;

You remember those six wings and double curled horns, remember staring Hraesvelgr in the eyes from the depths of their very soul as they so gracefully danced atop the clouds, fighting the dragon with all their might, and now that same vision stares you back, wearing the face of your heart’s desire. Their wings and horns stand majestic, made of pure gold against their marble skin (and oh, you remember their skin, how beautifully brown and warm it was, not this pale mockery, not this cold imitation) while their hair, longer than before, is fallen in beautiful curls over their naked body, hiding all their shame and all their scars, adorned with gilded feathers that now grow all over their body, the distinctive sign of something _not human_. 

“Beloved,” you call again, and this time, the Lightwarden’s cat ears twitch, turn, listen, but their face does not move. You shake your head, stepping forward towards what remained of your heart. “I brought apples,” you inform, and there’s still no reaction. In the end, you sigh. “I know how much you love them.”

The sweet scent was enough to bring them back to their senses for a short while, once, and you hoped this would prove to be the case again, but it isn’t. It is as if they’re asleep, lost in their dreams, and you can’t help but wonder if sin eaters dream of heavenly sheep — a ridiculous thought, but it’s with it that you take the first step towards them, then another, then another, coming closer than any mortal or Fae other than you have ever fared.

You sincerely pray that your wards stand, for the sake of this star.

You sit at their side, where a limp hand holds an angelic greatsword while the other holds a regal-looking scepter, and hold an apple. You liked them as well, once — they would bring them to you every day, share them with you despite the disgusting cold of Coerthas and smile, smile that wonderful smile of theirs and make you feel as if you were still alive.

And now, nothing remained of the Warrior of Light; nothing but Agape, a being of divine love.

You wonder if this is how Halone loves Her followers, cold, and unfeeling, and uncaring, so high above in her heavens. If so, you’re grateful she never cared for you, for this is _torture,_ to see the face of the one you once loved so broken, so empty, so _sad_.

But such is the way of this world.

You turn your head around, staring at the bright sky just like them, and even if you can’t hate the light, you can’t help but resent it a little, for it was the light who always hurt them. First it was Hydaelyn, with Her shackles and chains, choosing a hero who never asked for this. Now it was the corruption, spreading like a sickness, tainting their Aether and poisoning their very being.

Oh, if only they had taken your hand that day.

But then what? The Calamity would come someday and destroy them all, such as fate commands. Even if they fled to the far reaches of hell, it still wouldn’t be enough; them, and by extension you, would have perished to the Black Rose, and without the tales of their heroism to light up the way, history couldn’t be unwritten.

But at least they wouldn’t have suffered, you think, annoyed, clenching your fist.

Once again, the two of you stare at the sun that doesn’t set and when you take a bite of the apple, and it doesn’t taste sweet anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This was theoretically a neutral WOL fic, but realistically it's something really short about my own WOL Koh'a Awandah and I apologize for that ;;
> 
> Find me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/21stcenturyher0


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